A Million Miles Away
by Fires of Fury
Summary: A prequel of sorts to Psycho. Upon moving to Fairvale, Sam Loomis encounters an anxious young man in the shop. All rights go to Universal Studios.


For the past two weeks, he felt lonelier than ever. He had gone through a shaky divorce, had to pay thousands worth of alimony, and now, he had moved into this miserable town. For Sam Loomis, life could not have been any worse than it was right now. Everything seemed as if it was in black and white.

Running a hand through his impeccable hair, he moved up the aisle, pondering on which brand of butter was best. The shop, like the rest of Fairvale, was solitary and minuscule. It was very dull, and not one customer appeared to frequent the limited amount of products inside. If the shop was this deserted, did this mean it would be the same for his hardware store?

Inheriting his father's shop could have been a stroke of luck, but, unfortunately, it happened in the midst of a horrible divorce between Sam and his wife of four years. Now he had to divide what little money he had into paying her alimony, and paying the bills for the shop, and the back room that he now lived in. It was quite a step down from his old house that faced the lovely delphinium blue shoreline.

As Sam let his thoughts run away with themselves, a young man stepped into the shop. Upon hearing the door shut- although fairly lightly- he jumped, remembering that he wasn't the only person within a twenty mile vicinity. He looked at this new customer with interest.

He was in his early twenties, or at least late teens, and was quite tall, but had to be a good two inches or so shorter than Sam himself. He had hair the colour of dark chocolate, and eyes to match. Although he was very pleasant looking (at least to Sam), he held himself in a rather anxious, perturbed manner. He certainly did not seem alright.

Feeling slightly nervous himself (although he had absolutely no idea why), Sam grabbed a stick of butter off of the shelf, rushing to get forward to the counter, which seemed as if it was a million miles away. However, the other man, who was clearly wrapped up in his own mind, also headed in that very same direction.

And then, as Sam plundered towards the front of the shop, he slammed into the other man, crumpling him to the ground.

Sam came to his senses. "Are you alright?" He asked, extending a hand for the man (or was he a boy, now that he was closer up).

"Yes, I-I'm fine," he replied, shakily gripping hold of Sam. And what a strong grip it was.

"I'm very sorry about that. It's just... I was... In a hurry, and I didn't watch where I was going." Sam hoisted the man to his feet, noting that he was very slim, and seemed very delicate, even more so than that of his previous wife.

Looking deeply into his eyes, the ethereal stranger spoke once again, in his rather quiet, nervous voice: "No, no, it's fine. I was in a world of my own as well."

Sam still had a strange feeling fluttering inside him. He had never quite felt it before, not even with his wife, with whom he believed he had loved for five years. It was pleasant, and Sam wanted it to stay.

Then he realised that he was still grasping on to this man's hand.

Hastily, he let go, trying to forget this intensely embarrassing situation.

"Again, I'm sorry," he muttered, eyes fixating themselves on the floor. "I've just moved here after a divorce and now look at me."

"I didn't think I'd seen you here before."

Sam looked up, taking in the interested (if slightly timid) face of the man in front of him.

"No, I've just moved here. I'm Sam Loomis, by the way," he replied, once again extending a hand, this time to shake.

The man took it gladly. "Norman. Norman Bates. I-I don't really come here often, only to run errands for my mother. I'm at the age where she thinks I can go out into town alone now," he said, almost jokingly. Did he really mean that? He must have looked much older than he was, then.

"And, if you don't mind me asking, how old are you Norman?" Sam inquired.

"I'll be twenty in August."

So he was as old as he looked. His mother must have been very worried for him. Perhaps he was ill? It certainly didn't stop him from being handsome; he sparked feelings in Sam that he never knew were there.

"So what are you buying today Norman?" Sam asked, at an attempt to make conversation. Probably not the best way to start, he thought glumly to himself.

"Uh, just some, bread, milk, the everyday stuff," Norman answered, running a hand through his thick, glossy hair. "What are you doing here?"

Sam looked down at his hand, where he thought the butter was. It was gone.

Looking rapidly around him, Sam tried to locate the one item he needed, only to spot it on the floor. Melting.

Norman followed Sam's glance, instantly locking his eyes on the ruined product on the floor.

"I'll pay for a new one if you want," he offered.

Another of his virtues, Sam thought. He's good looking and kind.

Sam replied pleasantly, "That's very kind of you, but I'll be fine."

Norman gave him a half smile, which appeared to Sam as quite curious as well, almost as if he was a mystery trying to be figured out.

"Well, I'll see you around then. Have a nice day then, Mr Loomis." Norman started to walk away, without having bought anything; Sam thought this rather strange, considering that his mother had sent him. He wondered if she would scold him, or hit him. She seemed to be quite domineering. Or did she just worry for her son? She probably loved him very much.

Sam called back to Norman, not feeling ready to forget about him as soon as he left the shop. "Please, call me Sam! And I you should drop down to my hardware store sometime- it's going to open soon."

Norman turned around, and, with a wistful smile, nodded gently. Then, he swiftly left the shop, wrapping his coat around him to endure the dreary rains and winds outside. He ran off away into the distance; Sam kept his gaze fixated on him until he became a mere dot in the distance.

He would never forget this handsome stranger, for as long as he lived. He had aroused feelings that Sam never knew were possible, especially for that of a man. Just then, he could hear a sharp voice cutting through his lovely thoughts, hacking through them like one of those dangerous kitchen knives.

"Hey, are you going to pay for that butter?"


End file.
